A Damn Mess
by nikitee
Summary: Archer did what had to be done, but now... (A/T, Tu/T; rating for swears, not "action")


A DAMN MESS  
  
Disclaimer: Paramount owns Trip, Archer, T'Pol, and Enterprise. I own a cat and a computer.  
  
A/N: There are several wonderfully-written fics circulating now, exploring the premise of Archer going to the burning T'Pol: Will she accept him, to save her life? Will she acknowledge his emotions for her, return his long- denied affection when the fever passes? What's the aftermath of their passion? What indeed...  
  
* * * *  
  
"Got a second, Trip?"  
  
The chief engineer glanced up, obviously irritated, from the pile of schematics and PADDs on his office desk. His niche in engineering, as usual, was an entropic mess. Ugh, he groaned. Mess, mess, what a damn mess.  
  
It hadn't been a banner day, to say the least. At best, it had been just short of disastrous: the warp-field enhancements he's devised hadn't run well in simulation, again. Hell, he'd blown up the virtual Enterprise three and a half minutes into virtual warp 6 -- a feat he knew was virtually impossible: it took over eight minutes to rattle the bolts out of the bulkheads at warp 5 without field dampeners... I've always been fast, he thought darkly, according to mama... He grimaced and focused on his visitor.  
  
"Sure, Jon. I can't look at these sim results anymore." He set aside the PADD, face down.  
  
Captain Jonathan Archer studied his best friend, trying to smile, trying to gauge his mood beyond the obvious. "Hungry?"  
  
"Naw, failure takes away my appetite."  
  
Not just dark. Black. The captain fought a shiver, seeing the cold, defeated look in Trip's eyes, the deep creases around his hard mouth. Archer frowned, nodded, considered leaving... leaving what he had to say for another time, another...  
  
No. Holding his breath, Archer closed his eyes and sat down opposite the engineer. It couldn't wait, not this. "We have to talk..." he started, glancing around to see if any of Trip's crew was in earshot.  
  
"Yeah, I know. I've been spending way too much time on trying to make warp 6, and not enough doing my crew evaluations... sorry." The engineer ran a hand through his already tousled hair, then dragged it down over his face, over the three-day stubble on his chin. Three really wasted days, he noted, glancing at the hide-and-seek PADD. Damn sim.  
  
"No, that's not what..." Archer stopped, got up from the aluminum chair, turned around. Nowhere to go, he told himself: Nowhere to run from this one. He sat down again, heavy. The chair creaked under his weight, one leg skreeging loudly on the floor for a split second, then silence.  
  
"I... haven't been on the bridge for the past two days..."  
  
Tucker's eyes flickered, concern for his friend momentarily pushing the desolate ice away. "Y'okay? Sorry, I've been so wrapped up here, I didn't know ya were sick. I'd have brought Porthos down ..."  
  
"No, it wasn't me. It was... T'pol..."  
  
"T'Pol? She okay?" The engineer shook his head, relieved and concerned at once. She'd been helping him set up the parameters for the simulations for almost two weeks. When he'd been ready to run them, she'd been on bridge duty, monitoring the progress, relaying adjustments to his console. She hadn't come down after her shift like always. He'd thought she was giving him time and space to vent his piss-poor mood after the first sim exploded, to let him swear with abandon and beat his virtual head on the not-so- virtual wall for a couple of hours before diving back in, solving the problem. She hadn't come... now he knew why. "Vulcan flu?"  
  
"No..." Tucker barely heard him breathe the word. "No, it wasn't a virus."  
  
"Jon? What's wrong? Is she sick? What?" The engineer's voice was tense, high... his mind whispered the unthinkable: Cancer? MS? Eshokk-ta? She was so strong, so strong...  
  
"She had a fever... a high one. She collapsed on the bridge." Archer breathed in, held it, then continued, still quiet. "Phlox couldn't find any sign of a virus or bacterial infection, no pathogen -- but she had an abnormally high amount of adrenaline in her bloodstream... her chemistry was all wrong."  
  
"Did he stabilize it? Jon, is she alright?"  
  
"She is. He couldn't. I..." Archer stammered, then stopped again to study his friend's pale face: Tucker's concern for the science officer was plain, his affection for her no longer guarded. "It had to run its course. She would have died if it hadn't. The fever would have killed her, if we hadn't..."  
  
"Hadn't what?" The engineer demanded, exasperated now.  
  
"The only way to stop the fever... it's a biological fluke, the Vulcans won't even discuss. Phlox knew, though, from his years studying on Vulcan. He'd seen it before. He knew what to do. He told me..."  
  
"Jon..."  
  
"It's called the pon frell. It's... like a salmon, swimming upstream, using all its strength... having to make it or die trying."  
  
Not another animal story. No. Tucker squeezed his eyes shut, opened them again, stared at the captain. What is he talking about? What does an extinct fish have to do with T'Pol?  
  
"It's a drive Vulcans can't control. It's beyond instinct or logic. If she didn't... mate... she'd have died. I... had to, Trip. I was the only one who knew, other than Phlox. I'm her superior. I'm... responsible for her. I had to help. I couldn't let her die. I didn't know, I swear... I...."  
  
Tucker's brows shot up, his brain clicking into overdrive. Drive. To. Mate. Jon said: I. HAD. TO. "W-with T'Pol?" Did I hear ya correctly? You fucked T'Pol? Our science officer? Our friend? T'Pol? Bastard, you're a bastard, Jon.  
  
"Yes... it stopped the fever." Archer stared at a rivet in the warp core housing over Tucker's left shoulder, no longer able to look his friend in the eyes, eyes he knew were boring a hole through his head, seeing the guilt, the betrayal. "I... went to her quarters about 36 hours ago. She had smashed everything, ripped the sheets off her bed... torn off her clothes, burned... herself with her candles... sh-she was wild... blinded by passions she's never felt, insatiable... She's alive, Trip."  
  
Tucker said nothing, trying not to visualize what Archer was saying: she was alone, burning, silent and screaming in pain at the same time. Then kissing him. Rubbing her searing body against him. Loving him. T'Pol, O God, T'Pol... "Jon, if you're... gonna be... with her now..." He dragged his hands over his face again, trying to hide the hurt, anger, jealousy he felt -- things he never thought he'd ever feel, especially for her, but did now, in spades. "...why are you telling me this?" Damn you, Jon, why?  
  
"She was delirious. The fever was so high... she didn't know who I was, Trip." Archer looked at his friend again, words and mind both pleading, saw the black ice back in his eyes, paired with a desperate burning he'd only seen once before.  
  
"Trip."  
  
"Stop it, Jon."  
  
"She called me 'Trip.'" 


End file.
